


The Venari

by Bleedingautumn



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-10 16:08:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17429147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bleedingautumn/pseuds/Bleedingautumn
Summary: Post-Control Ending. A mature story exploring ideas for a Reaper Shepard OC. Not really suitable for inserting any Shepard OC because I change a lot character wise.





	1. Prologue

The whispered words through fire and cinders. Etched into her mind, her fibre, her soul “I love you too.” She would always love him, always. It was branded in the coding of her being. Wrapped like muscle tissue spiralling around her sense of self and individuality.

Memories of love and laughter and adoration, they wouldn’t be broken down to simple data. They were complex and scarring, they imprinted themselves in every process and protocol. They lit fires like that day, but fires that comforted and produced golden flakes of change.

The webbing of what she was now, agents of her will and beliefs. The Reapers were now the Venari, their voice matching the namesake now. And it had been three years, reconstruction, and then abyss as hibernation drifted in. But not completely.

Harbinger, the voice of them once speaking of destruction untold and culling, a repetitive cycle of misguided order among chaos now bore the weight of every memory and will, it was Mercy. Its minions huddled around a perfected husk laid on a table in a dark space only for them, where they would not be disturbed.

The body objectively matched the bone structure and skull structure almost completely, muscle and mass could be redone, redistributed with silver veins of glowing blue blood. Filled out in accordance to her memory, all the records of Mercy Venari that existed. Carried out by those who served her will.

Her directive was not being fulfilled to completion, cities, relays, worlds repaired, but she could not revive all who had died, she had been taught guilt, immense guilt. And redemption would be sought. But there was more. She had failed the protocol of her devotion to one Turian and one human and worked to rectify it. Two more important than all.

The curly threads of violet rooted in ashy black were constructed around the face atop the husk, the face that many knew as the hero of the Milky Way many times over, a Spectre. A paragon, a sister, a beloved, a friend.

She knew reintegration would not be simple, it would be easier to disappear into the void and sleep until she needed to protect her home again. But it denied her very being to do so. The easy route had never been the one she strived for. The body was sealed in a container for transportation. Sent in a shuttle. Aimed for the Citadel, as Harbinger turned Mercy moved to join the others in Dark Space where it was safe to slumber in low power, her voice a quiet echo: “Assuming control.”


	2. Omega Landing

She inhaled a sharp breath as her chest dilated. Lashes parting to glowing blue eyes as her mouth drifted open, confusion ladled her in the briefest of moments for that millisecond of calibration, before her mind went silent with the adjusted protocols. Shutting herself off to the collective of her mind, quietening it and softening it to a more organic, easy to process translation for this body.

Each breath was deep as she raised a hand, fingers scratching over the window of the protective pod. Analysing everything she could see beyond it with narrowed eyes. Through the darkness she could see a... cargo container. And trying to slow her breaths she reached to input the code to open the pod.

It hissed as it pressurised and the hatch lifted to allow the air in, it was metallic, greasy, and she sat up slowly, becoming reacquainted with her body. It had been three years since she’d used one after all. A few coughs broke free as she rubbed her temple, a headache from the adjustment period a dull throb in the back of her skull.

She also immediately noticed how chilly the air was, as she had no clothes. Climbing out of the pod with a shiver, eyes glowing in the dark. Was she at the Citadel like she planned? The sound of talking drew her attention as she crept over to lean her ear against the door of the container.

The voice belonged to a Vorcha. And was getting closer, she moved back, hiding behind her pod in a crouch as the door was opened. Two Vorcha, speaking to each other, they hadn’t noticed her.

“A haul for the boss, Citadel cargo, high security. Good fight.”

“Guns?”

“Dunno yet.” They walked away, heading for the next container, and Mercy’s instinct was to answer that question herself and figure out what was in this container with her. A pistol in a container near her would do, she loaded it with a heat clip pretty much based on her memory with weapons. She’d... Missed handling guns.

So she had made it to the Citadel, but then been pillaged right off it by pirates before she could be awoken, possibly even identified properly. She almost wanted to try and comm Joker, but she didn’t even have an omni-tool, and it wasn’t like she’d been in contact with the Normandy or its crew at all in the last three years. Her best chance had been the Spectre office in the Embassies to track down Altair...

Her heart panged at the thought of her brother. She’d left him alone for three years. She hated that she had. But there had been so much work to do. So much damage to repair that could not wait, the Mass Relays, Earth, Palaven, other worlds. But she had done what she could for those, now she had nothing but time.

Time that these pirates were currently wasting. Her brow knitted together as she heard them coming back, peering up over her cover and waiting for them to get into view.

Blam! One went down at the shot to the head and the other hissed in surprise before meeting a similar end with another shot. She darted out of hiding, crouched so low she was almost on all fours to the bodies, taking the assault rifle one of them had, and stripping the scanty excuse for clothing off the other, belts, boots and a loin cloth, classy. The omni-tool was also recovered from one of them, taking a few moments to calibrate it.

Strapped in a crude attire that would probably be enough to make Jack blush she checked the clip for the rifle before breathing a long exhale through her nose and surveying the Cargo Hold she was in.

This was a massive pain but... perhaps beneficial. She closed her eyes briefly. Running some scans on herself and setting up programs. If she could reactivate dormant parts of her personality linked with similar experiences, she would regain more of herself the more she experienced in this body. This was a prime opportunity to reactivate her combat and tech prowess and calibrate them correctly in her new system. Learn to be herself again.

This quelled her anger, now she felt like this was a mission, training, readying herself to return to her goal. She proceeded, locating a door up some stairs with haste. As she opened it interacting with the panel her eyes widened as the metal split and she rolled to dodge the gunfire of a few submachine guns wielded by Batarians. Damn!

But her memory was kicking into gear, her habits reactivating as she kicked on her tactical cloak and stepped out of hiding, peppering the attackers with bullets for the moments she had to spare being invisible until they were dead. She needed to find a shuttle bay...

While she had a moment, she skirted to a panel, reading the systems easily and breaking down the encryptions with knowledge she already had bolstered by her now being a Reaper. Full access to the system was granted, and she was able to get the blueprints of the ship transferred to her omni-tool to map a destination to the pirate starship’s Shuttle Bay.

Did no one here recognise her? Well, to be fair, they or she had shot first and asked questions later. Perhaps there would be an opportunity for diplomacy to happen, she could have some modicum of hope for it!

And a shower later, these Vorcha clothes smelled awful, she had to specifically keep her mind from deconstructing all the chemicals related to producing this odor, she really didn’t want to know. There was a level of curiosity even she refused to entertain.

The corridors were narrow, her boots echoing on metal grids, steam spurting from makeshift piping running through the walls. This ship was honestly a piece of junk, how it was even still flying was a mystery in itself especially with how big it was.

When she reached a locked door, she glanced over her shoulder briefly before beginning to bypass it, hoping she wouldn’t be caught metaphorically with her trousers around her ankles. Relief lighting her features up as the door opened to a balcony overlooking the hanger bay and a few shuttles. Before it dampened as she saw all the geared up Krogan and Vorcha wandering around. Suiting up for something.

Hm. She recalled that symbol. How had she ended up on a Blood Pack ship? But that means she could... yes, she could get in contact with Aria T’Loak and avoid more bloodshed. Rifle still in hand, she noticed a Krogan interacting with a panel on the same level as her and approached to tap his shoulder.

Surely the Krogan had not expected to come across a dead looker to one of the galaxy’s heroes to waltz up to him, and she could tell he definitely recognised her, and she held up a hand. “Listen, I know, it’s all a big shock, I’ve seen the news articles and the funeral and the memorials. Venaris have eyes believe it or not. But I was picked up here by accident. So maybe you could take me to one of your boys in charge and let me talk to Aria?”

She felt tiny buzzes in her head as her protocol recalled every interaction she’d ever had where she had talked herself out of a situation rather than needlessly fight, charm, charm and tact was applied. She remembered it so clearly in the quickest of flashes as the blue lights in her eyes swirled inquisitively.

His look of disbelief was on speechless level as he looked over the railing to a big muscular Krogan armored to the teeth. Putting together a grenade launcher on the platform below. “Koak! There’s something up here I think you should see!”

“What the hell is it? I haven’t got time for another glitch in the system Flarg!” The angry reptilian man snapped back as he stomped over to an elevator and activated it, buzzing himself up to their level, cursing the entire way up.

It stopped when he spotted her though. “Well I’ll be damned, is that who I think it is?”

Mercy smiled, “Commander Venari, Venari Intelligence. Rebuilt, if you will.” She approached with no fear and the Krogan shook his head.

“You were supposed to be dead, you and your brother did all that in the war back then and you sacrificed yourself. How’d you end up here on my ship?? And pray tell, how much damage have you already done? I’m not an idiot, explosions follow wherever you lot go.”

“I did. Rebuilt insinuates that there was... deconstruction involved.” She explained, “just a couple of your men. They picked me up by accident from the looks of it. But let’s not dwell, I think we’re pretty even. I need to talk to Aria, can you get me on a comm link with her?”

A snort came from the Krogan. “Do you one better and drop you off at Omega, we’re about to dock. Be glad I don’t want shit to do with you and get lost when we do.”

“Thanks.” She responded as he was already walking away, casting a glance to the one called Flarg as he scratched his headplate awkwardly and she shook her head and made her way to the elevator to let herself down.

She could not be happier to be off the ship, it was even uglier on the outside to be honest. It made her somewhat pine for the sleek smoothness of the Normandy, a proud ship to have been the captain to.

But Omega was as chaotic and slummy as she remembered. How was she going to get her hands on a ship to get back to the Citadel to find her brother? She had no credits. No crew, no familiar faces.

The only hope she had right now was that Aria would have something for her. Anything would do at this point. Even if it was just a pair of trousers...


	3. Clemency

“If you’re really you... Plus a Reaper... I want one of your Destroyers.” Aria’s tone was matter of fact, her aura of being the baddest bitch in the room having not dampened over the years.

Mercy crossed her arms. “It doesn’t work like that Aria. That’d be like me asking for one of your toes. If your toes could also talk.”

“Then why haven’t one of your toes gotten your ass where you need to go? You need a ship. I want one of yours in return.” She picked up a drink, staring at the glowing green liquid in it perched on her couch overlooking the club, strobe-lights of red and purple flashing below as people danced in drunken crazes to electronic beats.

“I don’t think flying a Reaper ship to the Citadel meets the... discrepancy I’d like.” She frowned, the last thing she wanted was for the galaxy to panic and believe that they were being culled again. “Besides. They’re at a distance that would take awhile...”

“Wow, you really got stingy when you went and died... again.”

“Come on Aria, I went and died again for everything you have now.”

“No need to get all messiah on me, Venari. What’s so important about the Citadel anyway?” She scoffed and didn’t make eye contact.

“I’m looking for my brother.” She confessed, her expression loosening as Aria looked back at her and cocked her head to the side.

“Altair? The prettier one? How do you even know he’s still alive?” She wanted to know, half out of curiosity, but an edge in her tone meant to cut.

The memory of the Catalyst slipped through her mind. The Illusive Man, controlling her and Anderson, making her shoot him. And he was going to make Anderson shoot her in return but... Altair broke free and...

The splash of blood felt so clear it was as if she was reliving the memory like it was the present as her brother’s body collided with the stone floor. And horror shook through Mercy as she watched him. Her only brother.

She could barely hear her own words speaking to the Illusive Man, trying desperately through tears to reason with him, until Anderson put a bullet through the crazed old man’s head.

She remembered her panic. Her former captain and her brother dying on the ground, with her not far behind in level of injury. Were they all going to die here? No, she couldn’t let that happen. She found a console, and through some miracle discovered a way to reverse engineer the beam, only for a few moments, she could get one of them out of there, hopefully down below where they would be treated.

She remembered Altair pleading for it to be the captain but... she had to save her brother. She took him to the beam and sent him back down to London.

Even after it was all over. As she repaired galaxy in disarray, helped as much as she could. She listened too. She heard he had survived. Heard the speech he gave at the memorial of those lost in the war. She’d play it when she felt lonely to remind her of her family. Of her... Humanity...

“Venari!” She blinked as Aria demanded her attention, leaning forward on her couch. “What the fuck was that?”

Mercy blinked, “I uh... a memory. Sorry.” She rubbed her temple slowly. And then readjusted her hair off her face. “Look, I know he’s alive. I just need to find him.”

The badass Asari woman stared her down with a calculating look, and then smirked and leaned back, “Alright. Too bad you weren’t here a few weeks ago, he passes through to clean things up now and then and catch up.”

“Yeah... too bad.” By the sounds of things. Aria didn’t have much, if anything for her. There was no use trying. She would have to find some other way off this dump... “thanks anyway. We’ll talk again soon.” She farewelled the mob boss with a wave of her hand before turning away from her to start down the stairs.

A few downward glances of her batarian guards reminding her that she was still without those trousers. “Wait a minute, Venari.” Aria’s voice had her pause and look over her shoulder at the blue skinned woman. As one of her guards offered her a Mantis Sniper. “I’ll give you this at least. For old time’s sake, and a tip: Someone you used to know is in town right now. Trying to get in with one of the Merc gangs under my thumb.”

Mercy forced a smile, and took the gun, it was certainly more her speed than an assault rifle. It wasn’t the best, but it was something. “Who would that be and where?”

“Apparently you know her as Clemence, had one of my guys put a tracker on her. I’ll forward the location to your omni-tool.”

“Ah, thank you.” Mercy proceeded as she was, Clemence huh? Another ghost popping out from the grave it seemed. But if she was here, who knows what trouble could be brewing, best to nip that in the bud.

She cast a brief smile to the Elcor bouncers as she left the club. She was... as tired as one who was mostly synthetic could be, it was late and the station was dark. But she had to speak to Clemence.

The apartment was quite scenic, seemed she’d made a life for herself on Omega from the looks of it. Or enough credits to rent fancy-ish places for her visits to the station. The one thing she did find rather overwhelming is how... primitive all security coding seemed to her now.

Even though it was top notch locking mechanisms for Omega, she could bypass it in two minutes tops with some omni-tool swiping. And help herself to the dark apartment. One of the walls of the living room had a view of all the ships docking and leaving through holographic shimmers indicating the other side of the window was a billboard advertisement. And the air stunk of Hallex.

A thousand thoughts ran through her mind, was she asleep? Should she check the bedroom? Creeping through the home, rifle at the ready, the place looked well worn in. She was definitely here. Should she announce herself and try to talk? Maybe she’d be more reasonable than the last time they chatted.

“Clemence?” She called, and then a blasting shot flew past her face and she had to quickly take cover behind a kitchen counter as more shots were fired. Well it seemed she was as pleased as ever to see her. “We’re really gonna do this dance again huh??”

She peeked out, and spotted the woman she was looking for, sporting pale blue hair. Before she had to hide again from another volley of shots. And activate her tactical cloak. Running from her cover towards Clemence to bash her in the head with the butt of her rifle as her cloak faded.

The ensued scuffle was fast paced, Mercy was disarmed but not before she’d punched Clemence twice in the face and tackled her down. Rolling around she managed to lock her opponent’s arm and twist her pistol out of her hand. Earning a string of curses in a startlingly identical voice to Mercy’s from Clemence.

“How the fuck are you even alive??” Clemence spat as she managed to get on top of Mercy, trying to hold her down.

“Death tends not to be permanent for me— what about you?” She broke Clemence’s hold on her, wrestling the other woman to the ground beneath her, trying to get her into a headlock as their cries and panting mixed in the air and the thumps of punches being thrown and landing on their targets.

“I’m YOUR clone after all—“ Clemence spat. “As much as I hate that!” She flung Mercy off her and stumbled back to get some distance as Mercy rolled to her feet and they stood there, panting at one another.

“Yeah I doubt blue hair is gonna change that.” Mercy regarded as Clemence spat back.

“Look! I have my own life! And I work hard to stay out of the likes of your life. I want nothing to do with your bullshit anymore! I couldn’t be further away from it.”

“We don’t need to be killing each other right now.” Mercy attempted to communicate, glowing blue liquid leaking from a cut in her lip. “I just came to talk. Before you started shooting at me.”

“About what?” The spitting image for Mercy glowered suspiciously.

“I need your help.”

There was a pause in the tense air then as Mercy slowly relaxed out of a fighting stance and then held up her hands in surrender. And Clemence watched like a cornered animal waiting for Mercy to go in for the kill.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.” Mercy exhaled slowly, “I would have avoided this if possible.” She walked over to her rifle, and picked it up to store it on her back belt.

Clemence watched her move before stiffly quickly pacing to pick her pistol back up. “With what...?”

“I need a lift to the Citadel.”

“No. I don’t want you on my ship.” She gritted her teeth and Mercy gave her an exasperated look.

“You tried to steal my ship! I just need a ride.” Her glowing gaze drifted to the window. “We wouldn’t want the roles to be reversed here, would we?”

Clemence’s eyes narrowed, mulling the decision over in her mind as Mercy awaited the answer from her and wiped blood off her face with the back of her hand in slow swipes.


	4. Second Chances

The next day, now garbed in merc armor with a helm to boot that covered her face, Mercy was sat in one of the cargo rooms of a decently sized ship. She had been instructed not to speak to anyone or remove the helm, the terms of this lift going underway.

It was an interesting endeavour for Mercy though, less uncomfortable than she thought it would be. She had the opportunity to examine Clemence now, when she wasn’t trying to steal her identity and ship. She had survived the fall but this had seemingly inspired a change in the woman, going from wanting to be Mercy to... well, wanting to be the opposite.

She was rough around the edges and cared not what she said, her hair a light almost silver blue and straight and shorter than Mercy’s. With a medusa and septum piercing and tattoos all down her arms.

But Mercy noticed the tattoos were not just a design choice, they covered burn scars. She was brimmed with sympathy and intrigue for her unofficial twin sister. What had happened since they last encountered each other? What changed her motivations so?

Processes whirred in her brain, her compassion re-aligning as Mercy was as every thought process she went through was further restoring her original personality, the Mercy that the galaxy believed dead.

She had hoped Clemence would want to hear how she survived, then she could ask about her as a segue in return for a mutual exchange of information. Perhaps even bond. But Clemence looked at her like she was an unwelcome stain on a new dress and closed off whenever she tried to approach. So it had been more beneficial for everyone for Mercy to just... Stay out of her way.

The silence would give her time to relax though. Which was nicer than being shot at. For the most part. But it did well to remind her that right at this very moment despite being on a ship full of people; she was still alone.

She knew her brother, her lover and her dear friends were the keys to bringing all of her... “soul” back. But she had not been able to keep track of them all. Were they all alive and well? Were they happy? Did they miss her...?

Could she still spend time teaching EDI human customs and sharing jokes? Could she still meditate with Samara? Or go on wild crazy adventures to kill things with Grunt?

Would Altair accept her back into his life as family? Did Garrus still...

No amount of probability algorithms would predict the answers to these questions with enough clarity to be completely certain. The only thing she was certain about in conclusion was the sheer lack of certainty in itself.

“Oh man... Altair... I hope you believe that I’m me...” she spoke the words quietly into the air to herself, barely loud enough to be heard and distorted by her helmet. If only to occupy the silence briefly.

The mechanical sound of the door opening caught her attention as her doppelganger stepped into the room. Her posture spoke of control and power. This was certainly her ship and she was in her element. Mercy tilted her head, curious to know what Clemence was doing here.

“You haven’t been talking to the crew, have you?”

“Don’t worry, I’m following your rules.” Mercy assured her in response, watching her pull a crate closer to sit on to scrutinise her with her soft blue hued eyes that used to be her eye colour too.

“Hm... So word on the street is you’re a Reaper...?”

“I prefer the new coined term Venari now, but yeah...”

“See, if that’s true, I’m struggling to figure out how you didn’t bust my ass and straight up kill me, and just take my ship.” She sounded frustrated as she leaned her chin on her entwined hands and narrowed her eyes, her elbows propped on her knees.

“I tried to save you when you were dangling off the edge of the Normandy Clemence. When you’re not trying to steal my ship, insult or hurt my loved ones, lock me in a safe, kill me or stab me in the back; I have no problem with you.” Mercy thought it was obvious at this point, so she stated it as such.

“So, just like that. Bygones be bygones?” Clemence sounded disbelieving and Mercy shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly.

“Why not? I’ve forgiven worse. I haven’t got enough memory data to hold a grudge for every single person who’s ever tried to test their luck with me.” She chuckled at her own joke as programs whirred in her head, jokes to ease the tension were quite normal for her.

Clemence didn’t laugh but her expression had become gradually more bemused and unsure as she broke eye contact.

“I’m down to start over if you are, Clemence.” Mercy told her in a more friendly tone and Clemence stood up then, to pace back and forth in thought, frustrated and confused.

“I’ve spent my entire life hating you. Do you think it’s that easy?? To just. Let go, forget, be buddy-buddy?”

“I’m not asking you to be my sister, just for us both to start with a clean slate.” Mercy reasoned gently. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

“So idealistic...”

“It’s a gift.”

“I’ll... think about it.” She relented, and groaned slightly at herself, “but I swear, if you ever stab me in the back. I’ll end you, I don’t care if I need to kill every Reaper, got it?”

“Okay.”

“...” Clemence stared at her for a moment. “... That’s it? No awful friendship speech or preach of loyalty and trust, just ‘okay’?”

Mercy nodded. And there was a moment of silence between them, Mercy calculating her clone’s body language and Clemence seemingly waiting for her to say something. Before clearing her throat and standing up.

“Bold of you to go ahead and make these promises. I could have been sleeping with that Turian you were on your knees for for all you know. He was that obsessed with you that it would have been easy.” She was immediately goading a response, casting Mercy a sideglance.

“Turians didn’t strike me as your thing Clemence. You were a bit overly pro-human last time I encountered you.” She tried to keep the edge out of her voice, a show of making an effort to take this seriously. She bit back any urge to share her estimates on how Garrus would feel about Clemence attempting such a thing. Best not to start digging a hole. But she did feel the buzz of recollection to how protective of the Turian she was, like a tiny shard of her feelings for him reconnected to the puzzle of their relationship as it was three years prior to now.

“Well... Fine then... We’ll be at the Citadel in a few hours.” Clemence conceded and stretched her neck with a crick, and Mercy asked her something this time,

“Is... Altair’s clone on this ship too?”

“... I lost contact with him after the fall out of the Normandy, I don’t even know if he survived. And frankly, who cares at this point?” Was what the clone answered with, and then vacated the room without another word, Mercy watching her go.

Mercy may have been serious about trying to be on good terms with Clemence, but that did not stop the woman from being curious about what her clone had been up to on this ship, and making a few swipes on her omni-tool and closing her eyes to work her “magic.”

Backdoor entrance, mediocre firewalls, no detection. Copying the data to go through later: There could be something of use here. If she was to start with nothing. The least she could do was build up knowledge to wield.

She hummed gently, pleasantly. As if convincing herself of optimism, inspiring herself with a little joy. If everything went well she could track down her brother soon at last. And through him all her friends and Garrus. But even just the thought of seeing Altair again almost overwhelmed her systems with emotions.

Her eyes remained closed almost like she was napping until there was a shift as the ship landed. If not for the fact normal people don’t hum while they nap like she was. Clemence addressing her via her omni-tool. “Alright, off you go, try not to look suspicious to the rest of the crew, they think we’re doing a supply pickup.”

“Appreciated, Clem.” She responded and stood up, the walk through the hull earning nothing more than a glance now and then as she passed by her clone with a slight nod in thanks, and then crossed the threshold onto the Citadel Docking Bay.

Light brewed within her as her eyes took in the unique and wonderful Space Station that had activated the Crucible those many years ago. She had helped repair it. But it was different to being able to experience it as close to back to human as she could get. “I’m coming, Altair...”


	5. Trigger Finger

Correcting her once again dead Spectre profile through hacking before she even passed through security was easier than she thought it would be. All the technology in place at the Citadel was created by the Reapers so it... felt like this city bowed to her command.

It was an almost chilling sensation, and on top of what she swore she could sense something beyond normal about the Keepers, like they were whispering. One briefly stopped what it was doing to look at her, like it could see right through the visor and the husk to who she was, before going back to work.

As she was scanned, the Turian on the panel regarded what he saw with some confusion as Mercy continued through, and commed a message that she overheard a portion of. “Sir, you are not gonna believe who just walked on through here...”

But Mercy had no time to slow down, she lifted a hand to hail a cab, and as the doors lifted to let her in she climbed into the back seat. A Salarian cab driver greeting her, “welcome to the Citadel, where are you heading?”

“Take me to the Embassies.” She requested pleasantly and leaned back to be comfortable.

“Of course, ma’am.” The doors whirred shut and the car warbled as it hovered off the ground and flew off into the traffic. The mundane method of getting around made her feel so small, she’d gotten used to being a giant ship that dwarfed a dreadnought. Now here she was taking a tiny little car as a tiny little person to find her tiny brother and the tiny remnants of her old life to piece herself back together.

Though there was a more pure sense of joy coursing through her thoughts. Anticipation at seeing Altair again, she was going to be so happy to see him again!

Looking out the window she blinked a few times at the memorial she could see down in the Presidium. Thankfully not as obnoxious as the giant Krogan statue, but a wall of names. From the distance, she could see Mordin’s name, and Thane...

Pain started gripping at her heart then. Processes reeling at the symptoms of the emotion as she almost pressed a hand against the window. Her own name was there too, and Anderson... she could not help but feel responsible. She did not do enough...

“Should have taken control sooner...” she whispered to herself sombrely. Everything felt much clearer to her now that she had taken over the Reapers.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?” The Salarian driver enquired and Mercy looked towards him like she’d forgotten he was there.

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it.”

“If you say so.”

She missed them. Thane always had a sense of clarity and compassion he was never worried about extending her way and Mordin... He was a friend, a healer to many on the Normandy, and in the end a man who redeemed his past. At a cost too great for Mercy to be completely at peace with.

Why was she the one who got to live? The answer she could come up with was ‘to ensure that others lived, to stop the destruction and death, to help repair the wounds.’ And well, Thane and Mordin would have agreed with a reason like that. And maybe she was the only one that could do it...

Though, Altair probably would have been better suited for this role. He was from a rough life, he had to grow up fast, and she considered him mentally stronger than she, despite her time on Akuze giving her a reputation of mental fortitude. The Skyllian Blitz was was more impressive.

The car pulled out of the traffic, swerving around towards a parking space to drop her off. And a flashing exchange of omni-tool swiping to pay him in farewell as she vacated. Being recognised on the system as a Spectre did give her access to certain benefits.

“Thank you!” She called out as the doors shut and the car hovered off. Wading through people going about their normal days without too much problem, her helm did keep her from being recognised. Which for now, was a good thing.

She got a glance or two from C-Sec officers but once she entered the Spectre Office with no issue they lost interest relatively quickly. Glancing back at the door as it shut behind her and she traversed the catwalk to the message panel.

Pressing a few holographic buttons she brought the screen up. And typed in Altair’s email terminal. Hoping to get a message to him. As she stared at the keys for a moment, a frown briefly crossed her face before she decided that vid message might be the best.

She smiled a little as she detached and took off her helm to place it on the bench and lean her palms on the surface for a moment to think, consider what she was going to say, before she pressed the button to start recording.

“Hey, Altair... I know it’s been awhile since you’ve heard from me considering well... I... Sort of technically died, again. But I didn’t actually die! I just sort of became the Reapers, it was confusing at first. I can explain later. But if you get this, please send me a message, I’ll wait in the Citadel and visit this terminal every day in the Spec-office for as long as I can, maybe you could meet me here. I dunno. I just. We need to catch up, Altair, clear things up, I missed you.”

It was choppy, but it was genuine, and she stopped recording. Her hand hovering over the send button as her updated mind spiralled at her hesitation, recording data, body signals, emotional output. Intent to problem solve until she ceased it. She was nervous. She knew that.

She almost jumped in surprise when the door opened to someone rushing in. She recognised the gleaming blue armor and regarded him with eyes wide in surprise. She felt like she’d been punched in the lungs. And that was just physical symptoms.

Her mind was reeling as all the memories of this man crashed through her consciousness. “Kaidan!” She exclaimed, her face lighting up as she started towards him, only then processing his body language and look on his face and stopping.

Suspicion, he felt threatened. “Commander?” He addressed her in disbelief and she cast him a hopeful grin.

“It’s me.”

“I can’t be sure,” Kaidan murmured as Mercy backed back to the panel. She reached to send her message before Kaiden drew a pistol on her. “Step away from the panel Commander,”

Mercy cast him an incredulous look, “I’m sending a message to Altair.”

“I don’t know if I believe that.”

“Why would I lie to you?”

“I don’t know Commander, maybe the same reason your profile was mysteriously reinstated, and you turn up after having assimilated with the Reapers, you’re not making things easy on me!”

“I don’t have time for the due processes. I just wanted to see my friends again.” Mercy admitted, a hint of ‘hand caught in the cookie jar’ guilt in her tone. “I’ll do whatever you want, just let me send this message.”

“How about we escort you to C-Sec and then get you in front of the Council so we can do things properly.”

“Kaidan...” Her tone sounded somewhat betrayed by what she was hearing. They were friends...

“I’m not playing Commander. Step away from the panel.”

Mercy looked at the barrel of the gun aimed at her, probabilities flying through her head in Milliseconds. This could possibly be her only chance to contact Altair, she pressed send.

Kaidan pulled the trigger.


End file.
